'Good-morning, Miss Wombast. I just looked in for the notes of new
books.'
'Oh,' she replied quickly. 'I'm sorry you troubled. Mr Boice asked me
to mail it to the office at the end of the month. I just sent it--this
morning.'
She saw his face fall. He mumbled something that sounded like, 'Oh--all
right! Doesn't matter.' For a moment he stood waving his stick in jerky,
aimless little circles. Then went off down the stairs.
2
Emerging from Donovan's drug store Henry encountered the ponderous
person of old Boice--six feet an inch and a half, head sunk a little
between the shoulders, thick yellowish-white whiskers waving down over a
black bow tie and a spotted, roundly protruding vest, a heavy old
watch chain with insignia of a fraternal order hanging as a charm;
inscrutable, washed-out blue eyes in a deeply lined but nearly
expressionless face.
Henry stopped short; stared at his employer.
Mr Boice did not stop. But as he moved deliberately by, his faded eyes
took in every detail of Henry's not unremarkable personal appearance.
Henry was thinking: 'Old crook. Wish I had a paper of my own here and
I'd get back at him. Run him out of town, that's what!' And after he had
nodded and rushed by, his colouring mounting: 'Like to know why I should
work my head off just to make money for _him_. No sense in that!'
Henry came moodily into the _Voice_ office, dropped down at his
inkstained, littered table behind the railing, and sighed twice. He
picked up a pencil and fell to outlining ink spots.
The sighs were directed at Humphrey, who sat bent over his desk, cob
pipe in mouth, writing very rapidly. 'He's got wonderful concentration,'
thought Henry, his mind wandering a brief moment from his unhappy self.
Humphrey spoke without looking up. 'Don't let that Business Men's Picnic
get away from you, Hen. Really ought to be getting it in type now. Two
compositors loafing out there.'
Henry sighed again; let his pencil fall on the table; gazed heavily,
helplessly at the wall...
'Old man say anything to you about the “Library Notes”?'
Humphrey glanced up and removed his pipe. His swarthy long face wrinkled
thoughtfully. 'Yes. Just now. He's going to have Miss Wombast send 'em
in direct every month.'
'And I don't have 'em any more.'